Evanescence and Erik Series
by GothicLolita009 aka Hayley M
Summary: A combination of Gothy Evanescence songs and Gothy Phantom of the Opera characters. A series of stand alones and one shots.
1. Return to Me Salvation

Okay, everyone, before I begin--I should warn everyone that is a Strawberry Pocky and Dihydrogen Oxide induced phanfic. I don't own Erik--but I wish to Heaven he owned me! I don't own the song by Evanescence which inspired this one, either...I am poor college student, so please don't sue.

Return to Me Salvation!

_I tried to kill the pain  
But only brought more  
(So much more...)  
I lay dying  
And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal  
I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming  
Am I too lost to be saved?  
Am I too lost?_

Lost in what most of the world would consider a fine prison, Erik laid his head over the fine Persian bath, and retched again. The metallic taste was getting rather old--as was the current position he was in, which made his aching muscles scream in protest.

Finally spent, he collapsed in a half-stupor in the bathroom, gazing upward--toward the sunlight, the golden edifices of the Paris Opera, the cool marble, and wondered...

Three months. Had it really been three months since Christine left him in his solitude for that boy, the Vicomte? Yes--the days had been marked off almost religiously.

It was a strange thing, that--keeping track of time the same way he had when Christine was his willing ingeune. He would never forget that first day he heard her sing--

_'Damn it all,' _he chided himself, _'you'd _think _I'd finally be able to purge myself of her...'_

_My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation  
My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation_

_'Go on, Christine! Sing for the Phantom! I'll bet he hears you!'_ _said Meg Giry, locked away in some sort of gtiddly, girlish matchmaking business._

_With a reluctant sigh, Christine recalled a song that she had once sang with her father. _

_And that was when it had begun._

_I was besotted with her immediately. That voice! It was like finding a vein of some rare and precious metal--or a jewel--locked away beneath years of soot, dirt, and ash. Christine'stalent was painfully obvious--but that wasn't the only thing._

_She was a sad little child--still mourning the loss of her father. Even now--what a girlish heart, a childlike innocence she had. _

_'Little Lotte let her mind wander. Her soul was as clear and blue as her eyes, and she wore a crown of springtime flowers over her blonde curls. She was affectionate to her mother, loyal to her doll, and was very careful of her red shoes, dress, and violin. More than anything else, she said, Little Lotte loved to hear the Angel of Music as she was falling asleep. No one ever sees the Angel, but a few are chosen to hear him. Sometimes, as with Little Lotte, he leans over their cradles. Sometimes, if the children are not good and do not practice as they should, he comes later. Sometimes, if the children have unquiet consciences or impure hearts, he will not come at all. The Angel of Music usually comes at a time when he is least expected and the most needed...It is then that one hears music that they know is not of this world, and surely Heaven sent. They known then that the Angel of Music has come, and they are so blessed that they will never take up an instrument or open their mouths to sing without making celestial sounds which the world considers pieces of talent or genius...'_

_I heard the story from Christine's own lips one night--and suddenly an idea came to me. I had not a doubt that she still waited for her own Angel of Music to appear. Her father had promised to send him. _

_'You? Oh, come now, think of what you're saying,' some part of me chided, 'she's lovely and you...well...'_

_'Don't listen to his chicken shit,' another part said, 'even a monster has a heart.'_

_This raging debate with myself rather annoyed and drained me, and, for the moment, anyway, I retreated to continue this discussion in more comfortable quarters--where I could shout at and have rather loud discussions with the two sides that screamed in my head._

_It was a bout with Carlotta that finally made up my mind for me. Christine spoke rather rudely to her dresser one night, and wished many terrible horrible things upon that banshee that the managers had the brass to call a Prima Donna and Diva._

_'Oh, Father--why did you lie?' she sobbed, and the decision was made. I would take this girl, mold her voice with mine, make us one in music, play the part of the Angel she waited for._

_Her reaction at my voice was quite gratifying..._

Without even knowing it, Erik had begun to sob, and he ripped away the mask which hid his terribly malformed face--and sobbed his heart out there--even on the floor...

_Do you remember me?  
Lost for so long...  
Will you be on the other side?  
Or will you forget me?  
I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming  
Am I too lost to be saved?  
Am I too lost?_

Christine, le Vicomtesse de Changy, awoke with a start. For the last three nights, her nightmares of a time not so long ago were haunting her, calling her back to the life she left when she had left the Phantom--no, Erik--and his world below the Opera.

She sat up in bed, glancing over at her husband's sleeping form. She smiled slightly, reaching out to move aside a stray lock of blondish-blonde hair. He was handsome, loved her regardless of her silly little faults, and protected her from the rather brash Paris aristocracy.

In short, he was every inch the model husband.

This wasn't so bad, in and of itself, except the fact it bored Christine to tears. Lately, she found herself drifting more and more toward the music which she knew resided in her blood. She had never told Raoul, but she had saved her copy of Erik's music from _Don Juan Triumphant_ and often looked over it, plinking out random chords and notes from it on the piano she had nearly begged him for.

She thought of Erik often--and cherished every memory.

With thoughts of music in her head, the Vicomtesse went back to sleep beside her safe, albeit dull, husband.

_My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation  
My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation  
I want to die!_

_Christine was a model student--more or less. It was my rather black and unpredictable fits of temper and jealousy which frightened her from time to time. I couldn't have asked for a better student--and within three months' time, she had improved greatly. It wasn't really anything I did--not really. I saw her talent, combined it with my own, and together we soared, our souls intertwined in music and beauty. I could not have been more pleased with her._

_And then de Changy had to show up. I don't necessarily think I can lay the blame on him, though--any man in his right mind would fall in love with Christine Daae. _

_But she was mine. And I was determined to keep things that way..._

I hardly noticed the footsteps as they announced a most unwelcome visitor.

"Allah! Merde, Erik--what is wrong!"

"I'm...dying, Daroga...can't you bloody see that!" I hissed as loudly as I could, "and now, if you would leave me to die in peace, I would be most grateful..."

"But my friend--"

"I want to die!" I screamed as loudly as I could, and began retching again.

_My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation  
My God, my tourniquet  
Return to me salvation!_

It was late morning when a strange note arrived, hand-delivered by a foreign man--

"I think he was Persian, Madame," murmured the elderly valet apologetically, "and he said it was most urgent you receive this at once--and that I was to deliver it into your hands alone."

With a nod of thanks, Christine dismissed him and opened the letter. Her smile of pleasure rapidly faded into a haunted look--something between horror, despair, and shock...

_Madame le Vicomtesse--_

_As I write this, I do not think you will answer. However, for the sake of my friend, I must try. It is Erik. He is dying, Madame. If you cannot return to the Opera within forty-eight hours with medical assistance, I seriously doubt you will see your Angel of Music alive again._

_Urgently--_

_Nadir Khan_

"Erik!"

The name was torn from her throat, and brought the valet and several maids running. Christine hastily ordered one to pack her a bag, the valet to order her carriage brought round, another to send for her personal doctor at once, and the remaining maid to fetch her a good strong sherry.

_My wounds cry for the grave  
My soul cries for deliverance  
Will I be denied?  
Christ!  
Tourniquet!  
My suicide..._

_I never wanted anything more than Christine's love. But that was then. Now, I want to be released from this damnable life! I want to die, I told Nadir, and I wasn't pleased when he arranged for, 'more confortable quarters,' as he put it. The room is Madame Giry's, and I shall have to thank her--if I live..._

_God, please! Let me die! I have nothing left...not Christine, not my music...nothing._

_With her my life began...and without her it's about to end. _

_Sweet release at last..._

Christine ran as fast at her skirts and petticoats would carry her. Up the Grande Eschler, and...

Wait. She didn't know where she was going.

"Christine?"

At the sound of her name, the Vicomtesse turned around and there, with a smirk on her face, was none other than Meg Giry. After a quick hug, the ballet girl led Christine upstairs and into a darkened room, where a rather familiar form was lying in the bed. She nodded her thanks to Meg, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind herself and the hastily procured Dr. Maynard.

_No...God, please! Don't torture me now--not like this...It can't be!_

"Ch--Christine?"

"Yes, Erik--it's me..."

_No...but wait...warmth...I feel her hand around mine._

"Please, mon Ange...you have to hold on..."

_Ah, Christine! You know I'd give my soul for you..._

What followed was a long night, complete with feverish ravings, fresh retching, and every combination thought possible. Nadir, Christine, and the doctor were completely drained, but at last Erik slept.

_'Sleep, Erik...sleep, and don't dream anymore tonight.'_

_'Oh, but Christine...I will dream. Of us...'_

Christine laid her hand over his in a calming gesture, and spent a restless night succoring him as best she knew how.

When dawn finally broke, a firm hand grasped the wrist of the Vicomtesse and started her awake. It was Erik, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline.

"Christine," he whispered, "is it really you?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Then--why are you here?"

"I wanted to save your life, Erik. Even though I left with Raoul, I never forgot you. I could never forget you, Erik--your music is what saved my dying soul. Now, mon Ange--it is time for me to repay the debt."

Leaning in close to him, she whispered, "And if I have spend a lifetime doing it--I will."

Cupping his head in her hands, Christine gently placed her mouth over his--and in a moment knew that her heart and soul had made a decision for her.

_My Dear Raoul--_

_Forgive me, but there is nothing that could possibly keep me with you anymore. I realize now our whole marriage was nothing but a massive farce. I loved you once, yes, but my soul and my heart are not with you. They were given up the night I first hear my Angel of Music--Erik. _

_We are going far away from you--and rest assured you shall never hear from us again. I wish you well._

_Your Little Christine._

This is part of a series I'm starting-- a combination of Evanescence songs and Phantom characters. Next will probably be Bring Me to Life. Now, since, 'no one likes a debtor,' please review!


	2. Bring Me to Life

Bring Me to Life!

As usual--don't own anything.

_How can you see into my eyes  
__Like open doors?  
Leading you down into my core--  
Where I've become so numb  
__Without a soul--_

_My spirit sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it  
__Back home... _

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

Now that I know what I'm without  
You can't just leave me  
Breathe into me and make me real  
Bring me to life

Christine, now Comtesse de Changy, dismissed all the maids and her husband's valet to chores outside the massive estate, thus earning herself some time alone. Raoul was away for the day, and wouldn't be back from his meeting with his bankers until that evening--if he opted to come back at all.

She strode through the empty house, reveling in the freedom she felt. There was no around around to worry, fuss over her, or annoy her.

She pulled on the arm of the statue beside the bookcase, and entered the music room.

Raoul had never known this room existed. It was secret--saved from its mediocre existence as a storage space by a soft-hearted Christine and three trusted manservants. Within six weeks, the room was cleaned, furnished, and ready for the Comtesse to retreat to.

It was a tribute to her other love--music. Scores saved from the Opera via Meg Giry rested on their stand. A large ebony piano was kept in perfect tune, along with Father Daae's violin, a recorder, and a harp. Christine was learning the harp through trial and error, with the assistance of a discreet and kind music teacher. It was furnished in deep, earthy walnuts and cherry wood, with black and red gossamer curtains hung strategically all round.

_(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become  
_  
_Bring me to life  
(I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside)  
Bring me to life!_

Making her way to the piano--Christine picked up a piece of music--an Ave Maria, and plunked out the notes of the melody, singing softly at first, growing bolder and louder with each chord. Her voice seemed to make the very walls sing back to her--thus guiding her teacher to her private sanctuary.

_Frozen inside without your touch  
__Without your love  
__Darling!  
__Only you are the life among the dead!  
_

Knowing the song, he responded, a sweet, gentle baritone that filled her ears and caressed her soul. Both hands began to strike the keys, switching to a strange and dissonant melody that neither of them seemed to mind...

_  
All this time I can't believe  
__I couldn't see  
Kept in the dark but you were there  
__In front of me  
_

_I've been sleeping  
__Athousand years it seems  
Got to open my eyes to everything  
_

_Without a thought  
__Without a voice  
__Without a soul  
_

_Don't let me die here  
There must be something more  
_

_Bring me to life!_

It was her soul he heard--crying out for more than a mediocre existence. It was something he had anticipated the moment he had heard of her intent to marry the boy. He knew she could never be happy in the life of an aristocrat. She was so much more than a silly homebody who could sew buttons on shirts, be paraded around like some trophy, and tend to the children.

This was one dead soul he would not allow to follow him into Hades.

_'Looks like Orpheus has to lead Eurydice out of Hell,'_ he thought, mildly amused.

Still singing, he placed his hands on her shoulders, those skillful artists' hands weaving patterns across her body. Throat, neck, shoulders, stomach, soul...they were all his to possess, if she let him...

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

(Bring me to life)  
I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside  
(Bring me to life)

Christine turned away from the piano, lifting pleading eyes to her maestro...

"Please, Erik..."

"You know it's rather hard for me to deny you anything, Christine...especially when it will evetunally work to my benefit."

Closing her eyes, she pulled him close and gave herself up to the soul-deep desire for all that was Erik...her teacher, friend, Angel of Music, and now lover.

Okay, I will be the first to admit this it not exactly my best work--but it was kinda hard to come up with this one...Dunno exactly why. Maybe the rating. Anyways, thank you for the reviews so far...  
So everyone knows, in my previous phic, Merde is the French word for shit.  
Also, to f. equivocal...thank you for your review and general comment. I appreciate it. However, unless there's a general concesus from other reviewers about the flow, then I plan on leaving things they way they are...Sorry, I'm not very good at sounding un-mean. blushes  
Okay! Please review! No one likes a debtor, now do they...


	3. All Of Me

Sorry for hiding, all. Here's the next chappie--and please don't forget to review!

All of Me

Again--don't own anything...Not POTO or Evanescence, anyway...Started at 11:20 AM

_I'm so tired of being here  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
And if you have to leave  
I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone _

These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase

_  
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
And I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
All of me_

Three months after the exchange between the Phantom of the Opera and the Persian, _L'Epoque_ published this obituary...

_Erik is dead._

Three simple words, but they caused Christine Daae nothing but pain. Raoul was out for the day, ice fishing with his new friends not too far from the Breton coast. She couldn't blame him for not being here when he was needed, but she was angry nonetheless.

In a childish fit of anger, frustration, and a heart-wrenching grief, Christine allowed the newspaper to fall to the floor, buried her face in her small hands, and wept until she could weep no longer and finally fell asleep.

_You used to captivate me  
By your resonating mind  
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind  
Your face it haunts  
My once pleasant dreams  
Your voice it chased away  
All the sanity in me_

_I remember my time with Erik--my Angel of Music--as if it were yesterday. It's strange after only a scant few months they could still be so vivid. _

_I realize now that we have--had--what the people of Asia call an 'en,' a karmic bond that lasts forever. I heard it from one of Raoul's friends or somesuch source. _

_It wasn't his face that haunted and frightened me after my prying little fingers ripped away the mask--at least I don't think it was. I think, looking back on it, that my feelings might have been so intense I was actually frightened of them. And Erik's too, of course. He is--was--capable of feeling things much more deeply than anyone I have known. _

_And now he's dead. And I can't help but think that somehow, it was I that signed his death certificate when I left him in his underground home that night. But I made him a promise--and no matter what Raoul might say to me, I am going to return to Paris tomorrow and carry out my final duty to my teacher.  
_  
_These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase _

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone  
But though you're still with me  
I've been alone all along

"Christine!" cried Meg Giry happily, reaching for her friend. Like old times, they embraced and began to chatter endlessly about everything and nothing.

"Christine...I know you didn't come back to Paris just to visit...so tell me why you're here," prodded the girl gently as they made their way down the Rue Scribe.

"I have...some unfinished business to attend to," half-lied Christine, looking too nervous for her friend's liking.

"With the Opera Ghost?"

Glaring at Meg, the future Comtesse de Changy nodded and opened the gate.

It was an easy journey down the lake, and by the weeping fountain where he had first taken her, Christine found a dark shaping, resting...

"Erik," she whispered. The acoustics of their location made it sound like a gentle breeze, but there was no reply.

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone  
But though you're still with me  
I've been alone all along..._

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
And I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
_

_All of me..._

Christine would not permit Meg to go any farther than the gate of the Rue Scribe, and performed the final duties to her Angel of Music. She laid him in the coffin, still masked, for she knew he would rather have it that way. She put the ring on his finger, and even kissed his forehead before the sobs tore from her throat, filling the small room Erik has desiginated as his tomb with grief.

A few hours later, Christine had totally unburdened her soul, and felt much better. She moved to the dusty ebony piano and ran a cloth over it. It gleamed with familiar hues and made the young woman smile just a little.

Dusting off the bench, she sat down and examined the piece of music lying on the nearby stand. With her nimble fingers, she began to play and sing.

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
And I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
_

_All of me..._

Okay--third installement done 11:37. Seventeen minutes. Wow. I guess it's 'cuse I already c/pd the lyrics and didn't need to like I did with Tourniquet. Please review.


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